Chapter 23: The Pit’s Reckoning

Gold Draws – Shadows Shift

By Restrained4U

The pit pulsed, a low hum thrumming through the warm concrete, red lights casting jagged shadows across the steel fixtures.

Leo slumped in his metal chair, mitts creaking, muzzle straps groaning – sweat matted his blonde locks, chastity cage glinting cold between his chaps. Round two of three ticked by, his dulled eyes fixed on nothing. Ryan stood, leather jeans creaking, ass still ablaze from his last beating, boots planted firm on the warm floor – vetoes gone, pride stinging. Marcus lounged in his chair, briefs tight with a dark precum spot at the tip, a king’s grin glinting as he tossed the black velvet bag to Jamie. “Cop’s turn – pit’s waiting,” he growled, voice thick.

Jamie caught it, latex uniform squeaking, tousled black hair mussed under the shine. He smirked, reaching in – cards rustled as he pulled a gold one, white letters stark under the red glow. “Eliminate your biggest threat – cage one player, they’re out ‘til end.” – CROWN’S BANE” He held it up, grin widening.

Leo’s eyes bulged, a muffled “Mother fucker” garbling through the leather muzzle, Jamie’s cum-crusted underwear stuffing his mouth, mitts twitching uselessly. Marcus barked a laugh, leaning forward, bulge twitching. “Another fuckin’ reward – cop’s stacking gold like Fort Knox.” Ryan exhaled sharp, arms folding, leather vest creaking. “Stack all the gold you want – I’m still in this fight.”

Jamie’s sharp eyes flicked between them – Ryan, Marine-tough, vetoes burned, still unrestrained, a brawler’s edge; Marcus, pit king, no vetoes, the game’s pulse – caged, he’s out, but loose, he’s a threat. Ryan’s humbled – could crack him clean. Marcus bends the pit – cut the head, I reign. He settled, pointing at Marcus. “King’s done – into the cage.”

Marcus stood, briefs straining, grin fading to a snarl. “Cage me, cop?” He stepped toward the steel cage under the bondage bed – Jamie cut in, “Hold up.” Marcus froze, mid-stride, as Jamie veered to the gear rack, snagging a leather jock – black, thick, straps worn – and tossed it. “Put it on – tribute those briefs to the pit.”

Marcus caught it, smirking faint. He shed the briefs – precum glistened at the tip, bulge free – tossing them to the pit’s bin with a wet slap. His cock sprang hard, thick and veined – pit king’s size a challenge as he fussed with it, grunting low, working the leather jock’s pouch to cage it. Straps hugged his hips tight, framing his girth, leather creaking under the strain. Jamie’s eyes caught the straitjacket on the rack – thick black leather, buckled, its gleam a tease since the game’s early days. “Fuck yes – now’s the time,” he rasped, grabbing it. “Admired this beast – hoped it’d bind someone. Now it’s you, king.”

He unfolded it – leather sleeves stiff, straps clinking – guiding Marcus’s broad arms in, the leather hide rasping over his chest. Jamie yanked the back tight, buckling it – five straps cinched from waist to neck, leather groaning as he pulled each snug. “Arms cross,” he ordered, threading the sleeve straps through the front loops, tugging them back to lock – Marcus’s biceps bulged, trapped. Jamie clipped the crotch straps under, buckling them to the rear – leather bit into Marcus’s thighs as he brushed his fingers over the straining jock, feeling Marcus’s hard dick pulse beneath. “King’s bound – pit’s prize.”

Marcus grunted, testing the straps – immobile, but his grin held. He scootched into the cage – leather scraping steel – double locks clicked shut as Jamie slammed the door, pocketing the key. “Out ‘til end,” Jamie said, latex tenting harder.

Ryan shifted, boots scuffing the concrete. “Now Marcus is out, I’m heading upstairs – need a real drink.” He turned toward the pit’s door.

Marcus’s voice cut through, caged but sharp. “You won’t, soldier.”

Ryan spun back, glaring. “Why not? What’s stopping me?”

Marcus grinned wider, eyes glinting. “Two things – your Marine integrity.”

Ryan snorted, “And the second?”

“The pit won’t let you – check the door,” Marcus growled, nodding toward it.

Ryan strode over, boots thudding – his hand hit the steel door, finding a biometric fingerprint reader embedded in the frame, its red light pulsing. “What the fuck?” he snarled, slamming a fist against it – unyielding.

Marcus chuckled from the cage, leather creaking. “Told you – we’re in ‘til the end.”

Jamie stepped forward, latex gleaming, voice low. “End’s near, soldier.” He reached into his pocket, pulling his Get Out of Jail Free card – white letters stark against gold. “No vetoes left – neither you nor me. I’m playing this to claim victory – pit’s mine.” He slapped it on the table, smirk sharp.

Ryan’s jaw tightened, fists clenching – leather vest creaking as he glared. “You ain’t cheating your way to the top, cop.” His growl rumbled low, boots scuffing a defiance into the concrete.

Leo jerked in his chair, mitts thrashing, a guttural “Fuuuck nooo” slurring through the muzzle – underwear gag mangling it into a wet snarl, eyes wild as he kicked, cage rattling in sidelined rage.

Marcus’s grin faded, leather straps creaking as he leaned forward in the cage. “I’ve given you plenty of leeway, cop – plug out early with that last reward, trading vetoes for gold, stuffing Leo with your underwear and muzzle. But this? This don’t fly.” His voice hardened, eyes glinting. “Pit’s rules stand – two of you are left unrestrained, and your vetoes are burned. We’re settling this with a showdown to crown the winner. Soldier, go to the cabinet, open the far-right drawer – six green envelopes right up front. Bring them to the table.” He nodded as Ryan moved. “Highest roll picks one – each envelope’s got a challenge you both face. Winner bends the pit. You both agree to the outcome, no matter who wins – full acceptance, no backing out.”

Ryan paused, boots scuffing, then nodded sharp. “Agreed – pit calls it.” His growl was steady, eyes locked on Jamie.

Jamie smirked, latex creaking, tilting his head. “Fine – full acceptance. Let’s roll.” His sharp eyes glinted, hand hovering over the table.

Ryan strode to the steel cabinet, unlatching the far-right drawer – six green envelopes sat crisp in the front, edges sharp. He snatched them, boots thudding back across the concrete, and tossed them onto the scarred table with a heavy thud. “Highest roll picks,” he growled, reaching for a die from the pit’s kit.

Jamie nodded, latex creaking, snagging his own die. “Roll it – pit decides.” They flicked – Ryan’s die clattered to a 5, Jamie’s spun to a 6. Jamie tilted his head, lips curling faintly as he reached for the envelopes. He thumbed through them slow, fingers brushing each one, eyes narrowing like he could glean the challenges inside – testing their weight, their secrets. Finally, he settled on one, pulling it free and tearing it open – green paper unfolded, white letters stark against it.

“Congratulations, pit warriors,” Jamie read, voice low and steady. “You’ve endured the gauntlet, bent steel and flesh to reach this edge. One last step claims the title – King of the Pit. Step to the scale by the gear rack – weigh in. Grab dumbbells from the cabinet – fifteen percent of your body weight, one for each hand. Face off on the concrete, arms stretched straight out, stand on one leg – last to drop arms or leg wins.”

Ryan grunted, kicking off his boots – bare feet hit the warm concrete as he stepped to the scale, its steel plate cold underfoot. “One-eighty,” he growled, clocking 180 pounds. He strode to the cabinet, snagging two 27-pound dumbbells – 15% of his frame, steel scarred from use. Jamie shed his boots too, latex pants creaking as he stepped up – scale ticked to 160 pounds. “One-sixty,” he rasped, grabbing two 24-pounders and joining Ryan.

They faced off, weights in hand – Marcus leaned forward in the cage, leather creaking, voice sharp. “Three – two – one – go.” Ryan raised his right leg, Jamie his left – arms stretched parallel to the floor, steel heavy in their grips. Muscles burned – Ryan’s broad shoulders quaked, his thighs twitched, the 18 strikes from his last round searing his ass with every shift, fatigue gnawing his Marine resolve. Jamie’s wiry frame shivered, sweat beading down his chest, but his cop cool held – legs steady, eyes locked forward.

Seconds bled into minutes – Ryan’s arms dipped, weights trembling as his beaten body groaned under the strain, pride warring with exhaustion. Jamie grit his teeth, tendons popping, but his stance stayed firm – less wear, more will. Ryan’s left arm buckled first, a 27-pounder thudding to the concrete – his right leg dropped fast, a grunt escaping as he hit his knees, spent. Jamie held – arms quivering, left leg aloft – then lowered slowly, weights clanking down, standing tall.

“Cop bends the pit,” Marcus rasped from the cage – leather creaking as he nodded, voice heavy with resignation.

Jamie stepped to the table – voice sharp, latex catching the red glow.

“Not top cop – just taking what’s mine,” he said – smirk faint, pit’s reign twisting in his grip.

He locked eyes with Ryan – low and firm. “Jarhead’s wearing my mark.”

Ryan grunted – kneeling stiff, fists balled tight. “Fuck off – I ain’t your bitch, cop.”

Jamie’s grin sharpened – “We agreed – last one up rules. Collar’s a formality.”

He crossed to the cabinet – unlatching the middle drawer slow – drew out a black leather collar, its four-digit lock glinting cold, a hidden jolt coiled within.

“Take it, and we drink,” he said – holding it steady, digits set but silent.

Ryan’s jaw clenched – glare burning. “Formality my ass – you rigged this shit.”

Jamie leaned closer – “a deal is a deal, grunt.”

Ryan growled – “Do it then,” head dipping slight, defiance fraying but stubborn.

Jamie moved in – wrapping the collar around Ryan’s neck – leather creaked as it hugged tight, the lock snapping shut with a coded click.

He stepped back – thumbing a remote from his pocket. “So we’re clear,” he rasped – a 5 mA jolt crackled sharp through the collar.

Ryan jolted – “Son of a -” cut off as his body quaked, hands clawing concrete, shock sinking deep.

“Bastard,” he grated – eyes blazing up, pride cracked but alive.

Jamie loomed – “Boots on, soldier – get up.”

Ryan rose slow – leather creaking, pulling his boots back on, ass still throbbing from before.

Jamie tugged his own boots on – victory stark in his stance.

“Kneel – Latex Law’s set,” he ordered – striding to the table’s head, kicking back – boots thudded onto the scarred wood, crossed casual.

He pointed beside him – “Right here.”

Ryan’s boots scuffed – jaw tight. “Ain’t kneeling again – fuck your win, I’m standing.”

Jamie thumbed the remote – a 5 mA jolt cracked through the collar – Ryan’s legs buckled, “Fuck!” bursting out as he hit his knees hard.

Jamie tilted his head – lips curling thin. “We agreed – full take.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed – pact biting deep, hands clawing concrete. “Fine – you got it,” he growled – guard slipping, expecting the drink next.

He shuffled over – kneeling beside Jamie, glare flickering but locked in place.

Marcus leaned forward in the cage, leather creaking – “Congrats, top cop – Latex Law’s yours. Let’s head upstairs, crack a celebratory drink.” His grin glinted; nod sharp.

Jamie smirked, tilting his head. “You’re right, Marcus – we should have a celebratory drink.” He lifted the collar remote, thumb hovering – didn’t press – eyes locked on Ryan. “Beer,” he rasped, voice low. Ryan’s jaw clenched, glare burning, but he rose – boots thudded to the pit’s fridge, steel door creaking open. He grabbed a bottle, twisted the cap off with a hiss – amber glinted under the red lights – then returned, handing it to Jamie. He sank back to his knees beside him, leather creaking – submission locked.

Jamie took a slow sip, boots still up, then leaned back. “Pit promised ‘fucked into oblivion’ – etched in stone,” he said, voice thick, latex gleaming. “Someone’s getting it first.” He looked down at Ryan – “You handled everything the pit threw – don’t deserve that end. In fact, I’m making you my Leather Lieutenant – my lieutenant who knows his place.” He dangled the remote, latex creaking – Ryan’s eyes flicked up, a mumbled “Thank you, Sir” grating out, jeans tightening as his dick stirred hard, a strange thrill coiling.

Jamie grinned, sipping again. “Besides, I’ll need your military experience breaking these two in.” He glanced at Leo – “Who should we start with?” Leo’s breath hitched, heavy through the muzzle, dick straining fierce against the cage – eyes wild, turned on sharp. “Or do we put Marcus in his proper place?” Jamie continued, voice low. Ryan looked up, an evil little smirk curling – both turned their heads toward Marcus.

Marcus stayed silent, leather jock bulging – his dick swelled thick, precum dotting the pouch, answering loud.

Leo jerked hard in his chair – hips bucking wild, a choked “Mmmph” ripping through the gag. Cum burst thick from the cage’s slits – steel gleamed wet as it spilled, dripping slow to pool beneath him. His body shuddered – arousal snapping sharp, orgasm hitting cruel and confined, relief twisted by the metal’s grip.

Jamie and Ryan swung their gazes back – cum pooled under Leo’s chair, dripping steady.

Ryan’s voice dropped low – “He’s begging for Marcus to fall,” he said – eyes flicking to the cage, smirk stretching wide.

Jamie tilted his head – latex creaking sharp. “First pick’s Marcus – say it.”

Ryan’s smirk twitched – gaze locking on Marcus, silent but cutting.

Jamie raised his beer – latex gleaming bright. “Top cop’s pit holds.”

The End?

Metal would like to thank the author, Restrained4U, for this story!